The Darkest Nights
by Von Alis
Summary: A World War II Hetalia fanfic, of course, mainly Germany and Prussia. Slight Germancest if you squint. Rated T for blood. No flames please, just reviews, this is my first story here! :
1. The Darkest Nights

1943

Germany rubbed his tired eyes. The air around him was cold and dank; it smelled of wet concrete and mildewed books. His light blonde hair and pale blue eyes faded in with the bright white light, making him look almost surreal. Besides the powerful lamp on the rotting desk the room was dark.

He groaned once more and dropped the pencil he had been using to map his armies positions with onto the desk with a dull thunk. Germany's eyes burned from these sleepless nights. His clear blue eyes were marred by dark purple rings.

Standing abruptly Germany smashed the palms of his gloved hands into the soft, damp wood; some of it splintered and clung helplessly to the desk by thin fibers.

"Verdammt!" he roared his heavy accent echoing in the dark stone halls. Turning quickly on his heel he stormed out of the room, slamming the incredibly heavy steel door behind him with ease.

It couldn't be over. He could still win this war! And he could do it without Italy. His heavy footsteps rang out in the hallway as Germany made his way up the concrete staircase. His broad shoulders scraped against the rough walls of the narrow passage. Turning down the twisted passages he finally reached one of the upper rooms of the bunker. Throwing open the door it crashed against the stone walls, the sound resonated like a scream and the door shivered like a terrified animal.

"Germany!" came a high pitched squeal from the cot on the far wall. "Germany! You've decided? You'll surrender with me?" Italy squeaked out like an over-excited child. His face was round and glowed with health, unlike Germany's sunken and grayed cheeks.

"Get out!" Germany snarled his eyes ablaze with cold fire, "Get out of this place!"

Italy, stared up at him, looking less like a giddy child and more like one who had heard a story with a less than happy ending. "But, Germany, everyone else has gotten so much stronger; England has really been hurting me." Italy looked at Germany with tear filled eyes, "I'm scared."

Germany clenched his hand into a fist, resisting the urge to reach out and slap Italy, all this talk of fear, idiotic. "Get out of my sight! I have a war to fight!" he howled.

Italy suddenly let out a heartbreaking wail and Germany shouted for the guards. "Take him away! Take him away from this place!" Suddenly the air was filled with the pounding of men's boots and split by Italy's wrenching screeches.

Germany bit down hard on his lower lip and tasted blood. It was too much. Italy's screams ripped through the air once again. Germany felt his gloved hand connect sharply with Italy's cheek and the country let out a broken yelp.

"I said get out!" Germany roared again, his soldiers gripped Italy's arms and began to drag him whimpering out of the bunker. Italy held the side of his face that Germany had struck and wailed again, tears streaming down his face.

"No, no, no!" Italy kicked weakly as the large soldiers dragged him down the cold passages, their eyes glimmered with pity.

Germany did not turn to watch as his former ally was taken from this pit. Instead he leaned against the freezing concrete wall, feeling the long, thin wounds on his back blaze again with searing pain. He had reopened his scars, Italy had been right; the Allies were much stronger then when he had started this war.

Germany still tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth but now it mixed with salty tears. He felt the painful lump in his throat boil over and suddenly he was weeping.

"Get out of this place!" he shouted at himself, "Get out of this place! Out of this place of horrors, of fears, of lies, and murders! Leave this place!" Germany pressed himself to the stone wall, "Leave this place or you are fated to die!"

But he already knew what his fate would be, he was destined for this cold desolate place, fated for death, he would not leave this place, he would not heed his own warnings.

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly, turning he saw his elder brother, Prussia, "Bruder," he murmured, "Are you prepared for war?"

Germany did not wipe the tears from his stained face, "Yes, bruder, I am ready."

But the two stood silently in the darkened halls, wishing for the eagle, that Prussia had once flown proudly on his flag, to take them away from these dark nights, the darkest nights.

Drenched in rain and tears two other brothers clung to each other in the cruel lamplight far away from the wolf's den. They knelt in rain, covered by a pure white flag, their time had come, their time to surrender.

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Though bullets do not rain in these halls

Though bombs to not shake its foundation

A new pain is felt

Dark as his blood

Light as the flag

Tears fall here

I feel my brother's hand

Dead to the world am I

One has fallen

Another continues the war

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Take him away from this place

Take me away, on wings of the black eagle

Place of horrors

Place of fears

Place of lies

Place of murders

The Wolf's Den

Sing, please, of the world above

Sing of lamplight and rain

Let your voice echo, sing

"Sing, brother, sing,"

The war screams

"Sing to me my victim

So that I may taste your blood."

White flags

Stained by red blood

Concrete pit

Hides the thing within

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Cling to your brother

Raise the flag or fight the war

Get away from this place

This dark and awful place

Destined for this cold and desolate place

Fated for death

Leave this place!

1945

Germany exploded from the depths of the bunker and into the cold starry night. Planes hummed above him. Another set of heavy boots followed him, Prussia's black Gestapo trench coat snapped behind him as he ran after his younger brother. The streets quaked beneath their feet.

"Prussia, keep up we need to get to the headquarters," Germany commanded, his voice was cool and level but his heart was pounding in his ears.

Prussia couldn't even respond he could barely get enough air into his lungs to breathe. They couldn't be more than two blocks away now. Racing down the cobbled street, flitting in and out of lamplight the brothers ran.

Germany glared up at the bright orange lights; they should have been shut off by now, what was happening?

Suddenly pain lit his side, the wounds were opening again, Germany felt his blood leak from the gashes that Poland and Russia had left on him. The end was nearing. Almost there.

He stumbled over a loose stone, the marching could be heard, the roar of blood in Germany's ears was deafening now. The bombs were dropping, the troops were moving. A shadow flew past the lamplight.

"Prussia!" Germany gasped. But his brother hadn't even the time to scream. A lead pipe smashed into Prussia's skull with a sickening crack, blood spurted from the wound and dribbled down his face, staining his silvery hair, blending with his crimson eyes.

Germany shrieked, "Bruder!" suddenly darkness exploded behind his eyes as America smashed the butt of his rifle into the back of Germany's head and he crumpled to the cold ground. The country's final glimpse of the world was of his beloved brother dragged into the darkness by Russia.

England stumbled up to Germany's broken frame. Using his cane he rolled the heavy body onto its back. Pain raced up his right leg and he fell back onto the cane with a grunt.

"You did this to me, you bastard," England snarled placing his foot on Germany's still breathing chest. His green eyes flashed in the bloody light, reflecting the falling bombs. He felt anger fill him to the brim and England dug the heel of his boot into Germany's flesh.

He felt the country's ribcage creak under his weight and a smile illuminated his face, a little more pressure and it would be over. Rid of this beast that had crippled him

"England!" France emerged from the alleys, "We are not here to kill him!"

"How can we even trust you, you frog?" England snapped back, he didn't let up on Germany's bloodied body, "You're almost completely divided!"

France held back a sharp response but only dropped his head lower, blue eyes to the cold ground.

"He's right, England," America chimed in, "We are not here to kill him! We got what we wanted, and so has Russia," America's eyes were glazed; he himself was divided over what to do. But his thoughts were far away, on an island in the Pacific.

England growled and lifted his boot off of Germany, "Fine, but if he begins again, it was your call."

America lifted his head and his gaze met England's, "He won't."

England stared back at his former charge, as if America had just said something completely alien to him. He had never heard America so serious, nor so unsure of himself in his lifetime.

"We'll take him back for questioning," England finally said. And the night closed around them.

Germany awoke with a start. He sat in a chair under harsh white light. For a moment he thought he was back at his underground desk laying out the next battle plans. But then he felt the binds on his hands and feet, it hadn't been a dream.

"Prussia," Germany choked out his brother's name feebly. Immediately he felt pain lace his chest and back, Germany's clothes stuck to his flesh, wet with blood.

A loud English voice responded, "He's awake," and England and France emerged from opposite sides of the darkened room. England stood tall over Germany, "We'll be questioning you for a while, and then you will have to sign a surrender, is that clear?"

Germany nodded slowly, "But first answer my questions."

France and England exchanged glances before England said, "All right, we'll answer them, but just a few."

Germany did not hesitate, "Where's my brother?" he demanded.

England answered again, "Russia took him."

"Is he all right?"

England's brow furrowed, "Russia isn't one to keep dead bodies, but in truth I do not know."

Germany glanced over the two once more, "Where has America gone?" he asked. It seemed odd that the Allies be without their unofficial head.

This time France responded, "He has more pressing matters, with your other ally, Japan."

England flashed France a look, he had said too much, "That's enough we must start the interrogation."

America clenched the knife tight in his hand, breathing heavily he watched Japan through dirtied and cracked glasses.

"Surrender, Japan, I don't want this!" America growled under his breath.

"Never!" Japan stood in his bloodied white uniform forcing himself to even stand. Lifting his sword slowly Japan made one last feeble attempt and ran toward America through the tall crackling grass.

America stood and watched as his enemy rushed toward him. Suddenly the sky was illuminated by hell-fire and the sword dropped from Japan's hands. America stood stock still staring into Japan's glazed brown eyes; his knife plunged deep into his enemy's chest.

Japan gasped for air only to see the sky flare again as America thrust his second knife further into Japan's stomach.

America felt the country go limp and Japan fell forward and crumpled to the ground. Blood spattered America's glasses and leaked down his clothes.

Drawing back, America opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't form the words, he could only choke out, "I'm sorry."

With that he turned towards his home, into the darkest nights, as tears streamed down his bloodied face.


	2. Into a Brighter World

1991

_ "__A new chapter in this story is beginning. The Wall has fallen. I cannot fathom the fact that it has been nearly 40 years since Russia and Prussia built that monstrosity, though my brother did so against his will. But now all that remains are the ghosts of what was, we will never forget._

_Prussia has healed; I had only seen him once or twice behind the Wall. His face was gaunt and thin, the wound on his temple cracked from harsh winters. For many years I believed he would simply fade like so many other countries before him, that we would never be whole again. But we have become unified again. Unified under one flag we stand._

_Russia has not been much trouble lately. He and America have just about ended their, "Cold War." But it seems Russia's time as the Soviet Union has ended. Even I fear for his sanity, but if the recent Fall has taught us anything, it is that a brighter future is possible._

_Italy, I wonder if he knows I did what I thought was right. I was afraid, that is what scared me the most, my own fear, fear of losing him, Prussia, and myself. That doesn't justify me acting as I did. If he even remembers the night he surrendered to the Allies, as he has the most amazing ability to forget anything of importance, I wonder, does he forgive me? His much less significant other certainly doesn't, at times I wonder which of the two brothers annoys me more._

_For instance, as I am writing this Italy is bouncing a football off of my window, Romano however is pelting the other side of the house with rotted tomatoes. Prussia, as usual, is nowhere to be found while work is to be done. I digress._

_Japan has since made an amazing recovery and is on better terms with America, who is, as usual, doing astonishingly well and rubbing it in. Although he was the one to convince Russia, as well as several of the other nations to let the Wall be torn down, I should be very grateful._

_I cannot, however, say the same for France or England. Both, however much or little, wanted Prussia and my demises, or at least our eternal separation. They argued the Fall saying we would only revert back to the ways of 1939. Though it is not surprising that they have held a grudge this long it is extremely odd in comparison with America's more peaceful actions towards the former Axis. They will no doubt be reading this once I've finished."_

The door swung open suddenly and Prussia launched himself into the doorframe, "Bruder, stop writing in that stupid journal and come outside! The weather is wonderful!" a smile broadened on the country's face. "I brought beer!"

Germany turned from his desk and smiled up at his elder brother, always using the weather as an excuse to go out and get drunk. "I'll be there in a moment," he replied.

Italy's head appeared under Prussia's arm, surprising the silver-haired country. "Germany! Germany! Let's play football!" he shouted.

Germany's grin twitched slightly, that was probably the last thing he wanted to be doing now, but… "All right, just let me finish." Turning hurriedly to the unfinished entry Germany scrawled the last line in and leapt up from his chair. Walking out into the warm sunshine he watched as the world spun by him.

France was standing on Germany's roof laughing hysterically at England who had gotten himself stuck in the chimney, no doubt after the journal. Russia stood with a sunflower in hand just enjoying a moment of peace with his eyes shut to the world. Japan sat quietly petting his little dog and watching the sun slowly set. America laughed obnoxiously while eating a hamburger, drinking soda, and talking at the same time. Something Germany had once thought was physically impossible. Italy and Romano kicked a football back and forth, a game that could last for hours.

"Come on, bruder, you need to get out more!" Prussia shouted disturbing Germany's thoughts. Tossing his brother a drink Prussia smiled, "It's perfect isn't it? Now let's enjoy it!" He laughed uproariously and walked off.

Germany smiled, it was, the world was perfect.

_"__The day is dawning, forward we march. Into a brighter world."_


End file.
